


melt, ye waterfalls

by lavenderandroses



Series: come to my garden: my jonsa blossoms [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya is probably in on it, Canon Universe, Day 6: water, F/M, Jon is a piney lil bitch and I love him, Jonsa Spring Blossoms, Political Engagement, Post S8, Sansa is great at explaining away her feelings, and i have this problem where i write too many words, i need to do like a drabble challenge or something, y'all also i have never written smut before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 18:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18184421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderandroses/pseuds/lavenderandroses
Summary: When Jon returns home to the North, he requests Sansa accompany him on a brief journey to look for a special flower. Not because he is in love with her.Title from "Winter's on the Wing" from the musical The Secret Garden, by Lucy Simon and Marsha Norman





	melt, ye waterfalls

_Bliss_. Cool air met hot flesh, winter’s icy grasp reluctant to relinquish its last holds to the gentle hands of spring. Some ice remained, but Sansa fancied that, even as they lay together, she could hear the waters becoming increasingly free. Eyes closed, she took in the sounds around her. The dull roar of the waterfall above them, the primary attraction for this trip; the babbling of the stream it fed as it rolled beside them; birds, making a nest somewhere over her head; Jon’s uneven breathing, as well as her own, as each began to regain control of their senses; her own heart, pounding within her chest. As she counted the beats, waiting for it to slow, she wondered what she had expected from today’s journey: perhaps she had not thought it would lead here, but now she knew this is where they were always meant to arrive.

_-a fortnight prior-_

Much of the politics of peacemaking at the end of the war had hinged upon this betrothal. Sansa and Jon had both had months of fighting, weeping, betrayals, fears, and, ultimately, victory during which to process their true relation to each other, but not much time together to parse out their true feelings. Sansa felt as though _cousin_ eased some of the strange tensions she and Jon had shared after they found each other again, before he left for Dragonstone. He was, after all, a truly beautiful man, and as a woman not his sister, it was only natural for her body to have responded to him in some ways. It had been too confusing to begin to process when she was still his sister, but after knowing she was not, she could easily explain it away as natural pheromones, not a reflection of any feelings they chose.

When, at the war’s final end, the great lords of the Seven Kingdoms had all but demanded a marriage between the true heir to the Iron Throne and the resilient Lady of Winterfell, Sansa believed this could be a match not unlike any other marriage of convenience. After all, she had thought, Jon would not hurt her, and she now understood how she could interact with him coolly and rationally. She could stomach being queen, so long as it kept the realm’s peoples safe and prosperous. Jon would be a good king; she should know, she taught him herself.

As both members of the betrothal were known to be loyal and true to their word, there was no rush to marry them now that the contract was settled. Winter was still upon them, and there was rebuilding to be done throughout the kingdoms. Jon had headed the efforts to right King’s Landing, while Sansa was left to rejuvenate Winterfell. She made along nicely, drawing from the records saved from the custodianship of her forebears and the assistance of her observant sister. They heard regularly from Jon, but always about things practical. Sansa had little time or reason to dwell upon her eventual marriage.

When signs of spring began to show themselves, Jon wrote that he was coming home. He had done what he needed to begin to make King’s Landing inhabitable once more for the smallfolk, but thought it may be best to move the seat of his power somewhere that didn’t share the stain of Targaryen bloodlust, Baratheon incompetence, or Lannister ruthlessness. Sansa was glad to hear it; though the walls that had once imprisoned her no longer stood, just the thought of once again being outside the cool, crisp embrace of her northern home disgusted her. Jon arrived not long after, pleased with all his betrothed and his sister had done to make their home inhabitable and prosperous once more.

The work was not yet complete, though, and Sansa kept busy most of her days. She would dine with Arya and Jon in the evenings, as she had kept company with Arya for the duration of the winter. Jon took over some responsibilities, but those took him to areas of the keep and kingdom that had not been Sansa’s purview, so truthfully their paths rarely crossed. (Sansa was _certainly_ not avoiding him. She was _certainly_ not unsettled by the look his eyes had when they met hers, nor was she unsettled by the way her heart fluttered when their hands touched in passing a flagon of wine. It was _simply_ a matter of practicality and efficiency that kept them apart.) That is why it was to Sansa’s great surprise when Jon asked if she might accompany him on a day journey he needed to make.

“Certainly it would be more practical to take Arya with you! Gods know I would only slow you down, and, though I wouldn’t say Arya is necessarily better at identifying flowers than I, surely she is more than capable of helping you collect whatever flowers Sam may need for his medicines.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Arya said, her face growing suspiciously innocent. “What is it that you’ll be looking for, Jon?”

“Erm, white gillyflowers, I believe.” Jon had already explained to the Stark women that they don’t grow around Winterfell, but Sam suspects it may be because of the hot springs. His research suggested that they may be found in a slightly higher altitude, growing near cooler waters. Hence Jon’s proposed trip up the White Knife, taking the fork that flowed from the northeast in the Lonely Hills rather than due north from the Long Lake.

“Oh, no, I certainly couldn’t be trusted. I couldn’t tell a gillyflower from a sweet Willem, not even if the Night King himself threatened to turn me into a wight.”

Sansa closed her eyes to keep from showing how they rolled back in her head. Arya had always been prone to dramatics. _She probably thinks if I go away for the day, it will be easier for her to sneak off to see Gendry. As if I don’t already see the way they look at each other, or know what she’s been up to when she shows up late for dinner smelling of the forge. As if I would ever keep her from him. But, if she won’t take my place, I don’t suppose I can convince Jon to go alone._

As she considered Arya’s reluctance, she didn’t miss Jon’s strange apprehension. She may have taught him too well, she decided. He must have made up his mind that a king and queen should know their territory, and shouldn’t shy from meeting important needs themselves rather than delegating them.

“Very well,” Sansa gave in. “And when do you wish to make this expedition? I suppose I need to hone my rough terrain riding between now and then.”

The way her heart leapt at Jon’s answering smile almost distracted her from paying attention to his answer.

“Two weeks hence, the weather should be warmer, and we’ll have a better chance of catching the flowers in bloom.”

 

Upon the fortnight, Sansa checked in with Jon about their plans. He had arranged horses for them and foodstuffs for the day, as well as some rolled furs and blankets to set upon the ground when they stopped for meals and rest. They would set out just before sunrise, and he anticipated that they would be back just past supper.

“Is that all, then?” If she must be up so early, she was eager to retire to her chambers and she could feel herself gravitating toward the door of Jon’s solar. But—was that a flush on Jon’s cheeks? No, it must be a trick of the light.

“I—I don’t mean to pry, but I had wondered if you had thought about maybe borrowing some breeches, from Arya or Brienne or even from the men’s stores, and perhaps a tunic.” She raised her eyebrow at him as he went on. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, traveling so long, and I’d never forgive myself if I made you ruin one of your dresses, and I just thought—“

Sansa interrupted him with a wry laugh. “I have managed all my life in skirts, Jon, need I remind you? I escaped King’s Landing in a gown. I was wearing a dress I _still have_ when I jumped off the battlements here and made my way to you at Castle Black. You needn’t worry about me. Some women may dress in breeches as a matter of preference, but I assure you that we ladies in skirts can be just as capable.”

Now there was _clearly_ a reddening on Jon’s face. He began to apologize, but she held up her hand. “I’m mostly teasing, Jon, there is nothing to apologize for. I thank you for thinking of me. If there’s nothing else, I should be off to bed.”

He stood quickly, shaking his head. “No, there’s nothing further.” He moved to open the door for her, though she had been standing right by it. She exited, and he stopped short of shutting her out completely, a bright look in his eye. “Thank you, Sansa, for coming with me.”

Something strong tugged at her heart, but she wouldn’t give it a name. “You’re welcome, Jon.”

 

Up before the light and dressed sensibly in layers of wool and linen, Sansa tried to fight a yawn as she mounted the horse that would be her companion for the day. Jon was brighter-eyed than she, but she could tell he, too, was hiding some sleepiness from their men. To her surprise, Arya was there to see them off.

“I’m up this early every day—when do you think I would have time to train, elsewise?” her sister had scoffed when she dared to inquire about it. “No, I just have to get a good look at you in case you get set upon by hill bandits or slide down an embankment to your doom. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of the Seven Kingdoms for you if you don’t come back.”

Neither Sansa nor Jon appreciated this line of humor, but no one had ever said Arya was particularly tactful.

“Good to hear the thrones will be in good hands,” Jon obliged, his voice still gruff from sleep.

“No one better!” Arya smirked at her own words. “You two have _fun_!” Arya gave Jon a look Sansa couldn’t quite interpret, and his returning glare only made her more confused. There would be time to ponder it along the ride, she supposed.

When the sun had been in the sky for about an hour’s time, they stopped to break their fast. Apparently, this also broke their sleepy, early-morning silence, and as the ride progressed Sansa almost felt as if they were back in Winterfell in the time just before the war. It was easy to forget all that had happened between them (or had not happened between them, or had happened between them and others) and fall back into a simpler kind of feeling. A simpler kind of love.

As they continued riding upstream, the ground had started to slope. A dull roaring was coming into focus, which must be the waterfall where they planned to bring their search to an end. Sansa had seen other flowers peeking through the forest floor, but not any of the white gillyflowers for which they were searching.

“Why does Sam need the gillyflowers, anyway? You never said. Is it for some medicine or ointment?”

This time, Jon’s blush was undeniable. Sansa was baffled.

“Or is it something for his personal use? You wouldn’t have brought me here to find flowers for Sam to give to his lady love, would you?” She narrowed her eyes at him. _Gillyflowers for a Gillyflower, it would be appropriate, but Jon wouldn’t have. Would he?_

Jon’s continued, obstinate silence only made it easier to hear that they were fast approaching the waterfall. Sansa spurred her horse to bring her even with Jon so she might force him to meet her eyes, or at least see his face more clearly.

“Tell me. We’ve almost made it to the falls and I haven’t spied a single gillyflower, so whatever it’s for, I’m afraid it may be for naught. I must know if that should make me worried, simply dismayed, or perhaps cross with you for dragging me out here on a fool’s errand.” She studied him as they rode forward toward the edge of the woods. He sighed as he finally met her gaze.

“Aye, you’re right. It’s not for healing. But I hope you won’t find it a fool’s errand.” He reined his horse and nodded toward the clearing they had just entered.

It was _glorious_.

Alongside the river, the bank was clear of trees and covered in lush grasses. At the end of the clearing was the waterfall they had heard, pouring icy water that splashed about and cast mist to catch rainbows. It was high noon, but this far north the sun still filtered through the trees, motes of gold dappling the land. Sansa could scarce breathe for the beauty of it.

Jon had dismounted and tied up the horses while she was still mounted, open mouthed in wonder. He called her name to bring her back to earth. His face was full of apprehension as he offered a hand to help her down. She accepted it without a word, stepping further into the clearing.

“How did you know about this place?” she finally asked him.

“When I disappeared for two days after I came home from Dragonstone, after Bran...well, after we found out the truth. I rode up here. Not on purpose, just to get away. But I found this place. It was frozen over then, but it was still beautiful.” He gestured toward a fallen tree further down the clearing. “I found myself here, and I got off my horse, and I sat on that log. And I wept.” Sansa looked back at him. His eyes were still trained upon her but they were glistening with the ghosts of those tears. “I wept for the father who was not my father, the brothers who were not my brothers, and Arya, who was not my sister. I wept for the home that shouldn’t have been my home, that I had given away. To my aunt. To the aunt I had allowed to think she had seduced me, whom I had lain with.”

He took a breath, his gaze becoming more resolute.

“But then, Sansa, then I wept with relief. And then with joy, because I could finally understand what it was I had felt for you.”

Though Sansa had stopped breathing long ago, she found herself interjecting. “Pheromones, only lust, natural toward a beautiful woman who bears no sibling-bond with you, I’m sure, b—“

“Sansa.”

When had he gotten so close? Had she moved toward him, or had he come up to her? Did he always smell like this? Like musk and leather and home? And were his eyes always this dark, his pupils blown wide? They were, truly. Any time he looked at her, they were.

“There were never any gillyflowers here, were there?” Was she still moving closer?

“Truly, I have no idea, Sansa. I needed to speak with you, alone, where you couldn’t use our duties to separate us. We’re to be married, and at the very least I needed to be honest with you before our wedding.”

“Honest?”

“Sansa,” Jon groaned, so close now that she could feel his breath on her lips. When had her heart last pounded so hard, so fast? Could Jon hear it? Or was it his heart, too, beating out of his chest? She was so near him that it was hard to tell. His forehead met hers. “Sansa, you have to know. I’ve tried to tell you, tried to show you, but I have to know if your feelings are the same.”

Sansa couldn’t say what possessed her. She only knew that her lips had reached out for his, and she was certain her heart was like to burst. _What a fool I am. I have loved him. Maybe since he came home, maybe since I found him at the Wall, maybe my whole life. I love him._ She let her hands find each other on the back of his neck, drawing him closer to her, and she felt him gather her in by her waist.

She had never kissed anyone like this. With Joffrey, only pecks. Petyr’s kisses were unwanted slime. Ramsay had never kissed her mouth, but sometimes mockingly kissed her cheeks. Jon’s lips were the only ones that had ever given her any comfort, any peace, any joy. And this was better than having them on her forehead, her cheeks, her hands.

Though the spring had barely arrived and the air was still cold, Sansa grew uncomfortably hot. That heat, spiraling from her core, gave her the notion to take Jon’s lips with her teeth, eliciting the most glorious groan. Jon’s left hand moved lower from her waist, teasing her rear, while the other moved up between her shoulder blades to pull her bosom to him.

She broke the kiss to catch her breath. The question still lingered in his eyes, but it was clearly outweighed by lust. She wanted to eliminate the question entirely.

“Did you bring me up here to sully my virtue, then?” she teased breathlessly. When his eyes widened, she saw that she had not quite been victorious: the lust remained, true, but the question was replaced by wonder. That was even better.

As she went to kiss him again, he stopped her, murmuring her name. Opening her eyes to his once more, she found a _different_ question borne from the wonder.

She hoped her gaze burned brightly as his when she nodded. _Yes_.

With her consent given, the dam burst. Jon’s mouth was hot on hers as her hands scrambled for the hem of his tunic, a hem she had sewn. She reached beneath to feel the smoothness of his skin, the warmth he always resonated. His hands followed hers, unlacing the leather bracers she wore over her sleeves even as she caressed him. When he finished there and she pulled his tunic over his head, he unfastened her belt and let it fall to the ground; she hardly noticed, for she was busy running her hands through his beautiful, unbound hair. She _did_ notice when he brought his hands back up: up to her waist, up her sides, up to her breasts. As he brought his thumbs over her nipples, even through her dress and chemise, she couldn’t keep in her gasp, and she only kissed him harder for it. His undershirt was next to join their clothes on the ground, interrupting Jon’s unlacing of her dress.

As it came undone, she let it drop. The cold air hit her skin, now covered only by her linen slip, smallclothes, and her riding boots, and brought her back to the clearing. Jon looked similarly jarred, in naught but his trousers and stocking feet. He gulped, opening the distance between them and trying to take control of his quickened breathing.

“I know you were teasing me before, but I truly didn’t bring you here for...this. I only meant to talk with you, and, I suppose, to show you someplace beautiful and woo you a little. I don’t mean to make you think I can’t control myself or that I expect anything of you.”

Sansa could feel her own face flush now. Things had moved quickly, in a lust-filled haze. Here she was, in the middle of the forest, almost completely undressed before the man who had been her half-brother. But he wasn’t her half-brother, was he? He may have been her cousin, for true, but he was more than that. He was her companion, her confidant, her friend. She loved him, truly, as a lover might.

And, _even more importantly_ , she thought _, he is_ already _my betrothed._

They had to make an heir sooner or later. Why not now?

Not breaking his gaze, she stepped out of her boots and her stockings. Taking a step back toward him, she pulled her shift over her head. Her breasts exposed to the spring air, only her smallclothes covered her now, and she pulled their laces to remove the final barrier.

Jon did not succeed in getting his breath under control, but this time he approached her slowly, deliberately. He unlaced his trousers and pulled them off with his stockings. Before he, too, could remove his smallclothes, he paused and turned away from her.

“Jon, wha—“ she began to call to him, before she understood. He unloaded the furs and blankets from the horses, forgotten since they had arrived. His eyes never leaving Sansa, he cast them out over the ground before he led her to them.

She realized now that her legs felt like jelly, so she sat upon the furs and pulled Jon to her. When he kissed her once more, it was softer, sweeter, but no less heated. His hand again traced up her side to her nipple, which he fondled with care. He took his mouth away from hers and kissed her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Her mouth was then free to cry out when she felt his lips upon her breast. As he kissed her there, he guided her to lie down fully.

The feeling of his mouth on her teats couldn’t compare to the feeling of his mouth moving down, down, down, until his nose could nuzzle the red hair at her center. She was almost writing in anticipation when, finally, his wet tongue nudged between her folds to find her nub. She could have sworn that as she cast out a sob at the feeling she heard Jon chuckle. She could be mad at him later.

Now there was no mistaking what she had felt all those times she had looked at Jon, at what the heat in her belly meant. Now, with his mouth upon her cunt, she had the same feeling, expanded a thousandfold and only growing. She had never been in this particular situation before, but she found her own hands upon her breasts, caressing and pulling her nipples, erect in the cold air. They increased the feeling, and she could not have stopped the lurching of her pelvis even if she had wanted to. It was too hot, too hot, but how in this cold place, the snow barely gone?

The world went black as a shock of intense pleasure radiated from where Jon’s body met hers. She knew not what sounds her voice made, or where she was, or even her own name. When they came back to her, she still did not care. Jon was all she needed to know.

When her world had settled, she reached for Jon, propped up on his arms watching her in awe, and pulled him toward her again. She didn’t need words as she kissed him, tasted the salty, musky fluids that she had created. As she kissed him, she unlaced the smallclothes he hadn’t gotten to. When she pulled them from him, he broke their kiss but remained nose to nose with her.

“I wouldn’t wish to get you with child too soon, love. I couldn’t dishonor you like that.”

No matter what changes they had seen these past years, he was still Jon. Her Jon. She smiled and nudged his nose with hers. “Coupling doesn’t always lead to a child, Jon, even if you were to—to spill your seed inside me.”

His brow crinkled. “Is that a risk you wish to take, Sansa?”

“Oh, Jon. I am no expert, but I believe babes never come exactly nine moons after they’re made. Sometimes it’s a little sooner, sometimes a little later. What difference will, say, twelve hours make?”

He only looked more confused, for didn’t take her meaning. Stubborn, honorable man.

“If you think, my love, that I will wait a moment longer than I must to marry you now, you’re more a fool than I thought. Whether a babe begins now or tonight, after I make you my husband, should make no difference.”

All confusion gone, he recaptured her smile. Reaching between them, he took hold of his erect cock and gathered up some of the moisture that remained from his earlier efforts. Even this prelude was surprising to Sansa, who had only ever known this part of a man to cause her pain, but this was so utterly different than anything any other man had ever done to her. This was Jon. He held himself above her now, carefully aligning himself to enter her. She could tell from the tension in his arms how slowly he was trying to go, and she loved him all the more for it.

Any pain she may have anticipated failed to appear, and soon Jon was fully within her. The two remained breathless, savoring this first moment of being truly, fully linked.

But then Jon began to move.

It was a different kind of pleasure than she had felt when his hands and his mouth were on her before, but by all the gods was it good. His thrusts were steady and even, and Sansa could feel every inch of him rubbing her in a delicious way. Now comfortable, she reached up to thread her fingers through his hair and taste his moans. This brought her chest close to him, and his own chest rubbed against her breasts. Between his kiss and his skin on hers and him inside her, she began to feel the same energy boiling in her stomach as she had earlier. She could tell that Jon must be getting close; his breathing was coming harder, and he seemed to be straining to maintain his rhythm.

With a grunt and her name on his lips, Jon lurched into her and shuddered through his release, but he resumed a gentle thrusting and added his hand to her nub, which soon sent her to her peak as well. When the stimulation became too intense, she pushed his hand away but caught it with her own, leading him to lay down beside her. Together, they listened to the sounds of the waterfall and the babbling brook. It truly was bliss.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the flowers bloom, their beauty just the thing she needs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18195557) by [lavenderandroses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderandroses/pseuds/lavenderandroses)




End file.
